Anonymous Fail
by NuitNuit
Summary: A series of dribbles/one-shots based on LiveJournal kink meme prompts. Some comedy, some woah sad. Mostly lolz, though. Alistair/Cousland, Cousland/Zevran, Alistair/Amell, Teagan/Isolde, Zevran/Loghain/PC, Cauthrien/Loghain, zev/brosca
1. Secrets

_**AN**: These are a series of dribbles/one-shots based on prompts anonymous posters made in a LiveJournal kink meme. Some are lolzy and others are a bit more serious.  
_

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**_PROMPT_**: _Alistair/F!Cousland/Zevran, a secret and guilty menage that Alistair doesn't even know he's a part of_

Alistair was a boy and everything safe and gentle. Her father would have liked Alistair and would have approved of their relationship after learning Alistair's parentage. She would make him King and she would be a nation's Queen. She was a Cousland and it was her duty.

Zevran was a man and everything dangerous and rough. Her father would have loathed and despised the elf and in no way would have approved of their relationship. He would be her King and she would be his Queen. She was his secret and he was hers.

Her evenings were spent in the tender embrace of her ex-Templar. Sweet nothings dripped pleasant and love was made. His inexperience and fumbling made their first few times awkward at best. But with time she taught and he learned. They stuck to the traditional. She would lie on her back and welcome him as he lay on top. He would move slow and careful, treating her like a paper doll he might tear. She would feign her release and tell him how wonderful he was. He would smile and tell her he loved her. She would always respond with the sweetest of smiles and a simple, "I know."

Stolen moments were found for her Antivan. Passionate some things burned hot and raw and need was satisfied. His experience and prowess made their first few times exquisite at worst. But with time, he taught and she learned. They stuck to the unconventional. Against trees, hidden corners in frost covered ruins, ale soaked store rooms of taverns, if an opportunity arose, they took it. He would move ragged and ungentle, feasting upon her in a pursuit to consume her whole. She would completely surrender and cry his name in declaration of how wonderful he was. She would lean against him, spent and chest heaving with breath and tell him that she loved him. He would always respond with the slickest of smiles and a simple, "I know."


	2. High Five

**_PROMPT_**: _Loghain/F!Cousland/Zevran menage a trois Eiffel Tower style (obviously this is a joke :) ) - SMUT!!!!!  
_

The archdemon was dead. An ex-Templar was King. Liquor flowed in excess. Innuendo oozed abundant. The party was just getting started.

Elissa, Zevran and Loghain sat around drinking their fill. Elissa lounged. Zevran letched. Loghain glowered.

It started innocently enough – a peck on the cheek in a good night kiss, Elissa to Zevran. But hands took hold of wrists, ass met lap and soon clothing was being removed and lips were being bruised and laps being grinded into. It mattered little to the pair that they had an audience in old man, Loghain.

Bountiful breasts came into light, bouncing light and hot and airy and supple against Zevran's over eager and well trained hands. He pinched and prodded and licked and fondled. He knew what he was doing and wasn't afraid to show it.

Elissa moaned and gasped and leaned into her elf, egging him on to continue. It felt good and she wasn't afraid to show just how good it felt because it felt good. Half-lidded eyes stuck in a drunken haze looked across the room. She smirked at Loghain and gave a little giggle. "Cat got your tongue? Or can I have it instead?" It was an open invitation. Come and get her, Ser Hero of the River Dane..if you dare.

"The couch," Zevran murmured, head crooking to motion to an unoccupied divan between Loghain and them. "I need you…like bad."

No more words were needed. Topless and wanting, Elissa slid off Zevran's rock hard lap and sauntered sexily to the couch. Her breasts bobbed and bounced with her every movement, tantalizing the men with her mammary perfection. And she got to the couch, she slipped out of her skirt and tossed it aside. Clothing was optional at this affair!

Her invitation not forgotten, Loghain eased out of his chair and started towards the now hotty occupied couch. He had just gotten his grove on with a swamp witch not too far in the past. He had a taste of lady loving and now he wanted more. He kneeled on the couch and took Elissa's face in his calloused, battle weary, arthritic hands and tugged that hungry little face to his own in a fierce and commanding kiss. He would show her how they do it in Gwaren country. His tongue plunged into her mouth and conquered Highever in a way that Howe never managed.

From behind Elissa, Zevran slinked. Those ever skilled hands took those ever beautiful and sex goddess breasts within their grasp once again. Nipples were pinched, flesh was stroked, he played her like a regular breastician.

Gasps and moans and cries gurgled in her throat. She was loving every second of the attentions being plied on her. And as if to show it even further, she pressed her ass into Zevran's stomach in silent beg.

He didn't need further invitation. His massive erection was freed from his tight pants and into the sweet and wet waters he plunged.

Loghain had to get some of this action. He didn't become a successful General by sitting on his laurels. He was the proactive sort! His own throbbing member beat against the cloth of his pants. It was begging to be freed. And if Zevran's cock was impressive, Loghain's was awe inspiring. Elissa's eyes widened at the girth of the thing and immediately her mouth salivated with want. She had to have it in her mouth like NOW. So into her mouth she took it…just barely. And it felt hot and hard and stiff and great and everything she knew she wanted and needed.

She moaned against Loghain as Zevran continued to hammer at her backside in rapid, bunny rabbit thrusts. And she knew, she knew this is why they fought the darkspawn. This made it all worth it. It was awesome and incredible and felt so good.

And those men, they knew it took. Hands raised in the air and smacked at one another in a high five. The maker would have been so proud.


	3. Shaved

**_PROMPT_**:_ Alistair shaves and Tabris watches....  
_

Alistair didn't know why he was doing it. Well, that wasn't true, he knew why he was about to shave down _there_ for _her_. He had made the foolish mistake of talking to that Antivan about how to impress a woman in…bed. Zevran had mentioned the size of a man's _weaponry_ mattered and a little shave here and a little shave _there_ could make him seem more..impressive.

_Appearances do matter, dear Alistair._

So there he stood, crouching behind a tree which pants about his ankles, a blade in his hands and some flowery smelling salve Zevran gave him smeared over his sensitive bits.

Carefully he started the process of shaving away all the little hairs. Each strike of the blade against overly sensitive skin brought a shudder and shake to Alistair. It felt wrong yet strangely…right. He was doing something naughty for _her_. He could not help but grin.

----

Kallian had looked all over for Alistair. He wasn't by the fire, his tent, her tent (not that he would have been there. She had tried and he always said no, frustrating her to no end), or even the food bags. No one else seemed to know where he might be either.

And just as she was about to give up searching for the ex-Templar, she caught the faint glimmer of moonlight against metal off in a copse of trees adjacent to camp. Curiosity filled steps carried her toward the flash of light.

She saw his hair first. It was unmistakably Alistair. But he was crouched and was that his...around his? Dark brows spiked perplexed. She watched as his hands moved back and forth between his legs. He was not doing _that_ was he?

He was not. Surprise soon was replaced with astonishment as she noted what the bastard Prince was up to. He was shaving his Princely accoutrement. Her hand shot quickly to her mouth in an effort to stifle the laugh and the smile that burgeoned.

But then an idea formed in her head.

_I need to find my own razor._


	4. Splintmail

**_PROMPT_**:_ Teagan + Alistair + Splintmail  
_

The King's golden armor sat in a pile along the floor of his room. It was fancy and all, but Alistair just didn't feel right wearing it. His splintmail on the other hand, that was the stuff of comfort. His hol(e)y socks from his Chantry days, splintmail armor and a smile, that was all he needed to wear.

Teagan was the first to make a comment about the armor. "Your majesty, why are you wearing splintmail? You do have better armor to wear."

Fingers rose and scratched at the light brown locks atop Alistair's head. "Um…because I'm comfortable in it…" The response came out more a question than a statement. He continued, "The other stuff makes me feel like….well Cailan."

Alistair had seen this look before, the look that sprung to life on Teagan's face. It looked very much like a fox about to pounce upon its prey – all together too self-satisfied. "Oh I assure you, your majesty..." Teagan's hand lifted to cup the back of Alistair's neck. "You feel nothing like Cailan."


	5. Double Dipping

**_PROMPT_**:_ King Alistair and Queen Cousland sneak away from the coronation for a private moment. Closet or behind a tapestry. Bonus if they get caught. Double-bonus if it's Fergus._

Polite talk, congenial looks, diplomatic nods of the head, these things Alistair was not comfortable with. And when Elizabeth whispered in his ear that perhaps they step away for a moment, he more than leaped at the opportunity.

The dinner had been long, boring and excruciating. His pants were too tight (_Never letting Zevran pick out clothes for me again_) and Elizabeth's gown was just… The breasts, the waist, the cascade of her hair over shoulders in a curled style meant to look messy but neat. He likened it to bed head and was summarily chastised by Leliana for his lack of fashion sense. All he knew is that the entire look made him… Well it made his pants even tighter.

A small closet just off the main dining hall seemed a reasonable enough location. Dark and cramped, there was no telling what was being stored in the closet but frankly he did not care. Her mouth collided with his in a bruising kiss and everything floated away..except the pants, those were still way too tight.

His moan was muffled against the slope of her neck as she nibbled playfully at his ear. One hand made quick work of the lacings of his pants while the other dipped indelicate into those ever so tight trousers and wrapped about his manhood. Hot breath brushed against his ear, raspy words spoken to him, "Alistair, I want you inside me."

He fisted folds of cloth in his hands, lifting up the hem of her dress, pooling it about her waist. They fell backward, connecting with a shelf or a chair, he wasn't sure. She let out a giggle-ow against his lips before moving her hips forward. Her hand guided his path until all he felt was… sweet Maker above, _that _feeling never got old.

And she did that thing with her teeth against his neck and that thing with finger in his…_place _and any will he had to take things slow and build up the pleasure melted away. Urgency pushed along his hips as he pummeled into his Warden, his Queen.

Light spilled bright and unwanted into the closet as the door was unceremoniously flung open. Mid-thrust Alistair stopped, his breath caught in his chest, his eyes wide with disbelief as he glanced over his shoulder. Standing just outside the small closet stood Fergus and Zevran, the men each wrapping an arm about the other's waist.

Fergus' expression blanched, perhaps from shock, perhaps from disgust. Too many ideas sprang into Alistair's embarrassment addled mind.

Zevran's mouth slid into an easy smile, all together too pleased and too happy at the display before him. "I see this closet is occupied. We shall…" Amber eyes roved down the line of Alistair's back focusing in on the Queen's finger. And as if to add insult to injury, the damn elf winked, "…find our own private spot. Your majesties."

And as easily as the door opened, it once again closed. A low growl rich with irritation grew in the back of his throat, "I'm going to kill Zevran."


	6. The Stone Warrior

**_PROMPT_**:_ Alistair + F!Warden + dolls...go  
_

Adventures were had by day on the road, in dungeons, and in towns. Adventures were had in the tent or the bedroom whenever they bunked down for the night. What started awkwardly had become just something all together…awesome. When Solona asked him to try something different, he eagerly agreed. And when he found out she wanted to stick her finger _there_, he got a little scared and hesitant. But she asked him to trust her and he did.

And oh, it felt so good and so different and he was happy he tried it.

So when she mentioned trying something bigger, he got a little scared and a little hesitant. But she asked him to trust her and he did. He felt something slide smooth up _there_, aided along with some kind of oil she said she got just for the occasion. And given the looks that Zevran had given him before Alistair and Solona went to their tent for the night, he didn't want to imagine just where the lubricant came from.

And oh, it felt so good and so different and he was happy that he tried it.

But then, she squeaked and said very quietly, "Uh oh."

He looked over his shoulder, peering at her from his position on the ground on all fours. Brownish-blond brows peaked curious. The nervous nibble of teeth against her lips, the fidgeting of her fingers and the wide eyed nature of her stare all set off alarm bells in his head. Something was wrong. And before he could ask, she said apologetically, "It kind of slipped out of my hand and its…stuck."

"Stuck," he yelped loudly before lowering his voice to a whisper. "What do you mean it is stuck? And just what is _it_?"

Lips pressed together. She was a child caught doing something very naughty. "I…I used one of your…" She held up one of Alistair's… "…dolls."

A gaspy comment strained to remain low in volume, "They aren't dolls!" Teeth clenched, his mouth twisting angrily, "They are….figurines." And one was stuck up his…_place where things should not be stuck_. He shifted positions but sitting was completely out of the question. One press of his backside to the tent bottom and he was jolting up with all the grace of an over fed cow. "Get it out," he cried, sticking his own hand around his back and trying to dig out the trespasser.

"I've tried," Solona explained through downturned lips. "I even tried magic and...well I didn't figure you'd want me to freeze or shock it out." Her face crinkled with discomfort. "I could..uh..get Zevran. Maybe he has experience in these matters? He suggested you might like it."

This was not happening to him. This is what the Chantry tried to warn him about. In his mind he saw a flash of wrinkled old faces pointing scraggly fingers accusingly in his direction. And now she wanted to add Zevran to the mix? And it was _his_ idea? "Absolutely not." He could already hear the laughter and see the mocking glances. He would rather die impaled on his own toy than let the elf learn about his little misadventure. And then he would come back in the fade and cut Zevran's hair or something. "Go get Wynne."

Solona nodded quickly and was gone in a flash. He could tell she was sorry and while he was upset at what happened, he full well knew this was his own damn fault and Zevran's. And maybe someday he might even laugh at it. But then again, no, he would never laugh about it. Absolutely not! 


	7. Hammer Time

**_PROMPT_**:_ Teagan + Isolde + lulz_

Isolde was so wanting it and Teagan was ready to give it to her good. She gave the signal, "A ride, dear husband. I would like to go on one." And she knew Eamon was in no condition to go. He was feeling a bit under the weather.

"Brother, you are not feeling well today. I will take Isolde out for a ride." Teagan had volunteered and a ride he would give her indeed.

They made their way to the stables, a secret grope enjoyed here and there along their way. And within seconds of entering the stable, they were upon one another. Fingers, teeth, scraps of cloth, a tornado of passion swirled chaotic.

A handful of fabric is taken in Teagan's hands, Isolde's dress lifted above her waist. Small clothes were for Ferelden's and she was no such lady. That's just how they rolled in Orlais, naughty to the core.

She mumbled against his lips and he fondled hers with the probing glide of his fingers. She was wet and ready and he was hard and ready to hammer.

He nailed her against the stable stall wall. Her legs wrapped about his waist and hips ground against his with every wall shaking thrust. Isolde had always been a screamer and this time was no different. She started out with a whimper of a "Teagan" and soon bellowed into a howl of a "Teeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaagan" as she neared the apex of pleasure.

Teagan began to feel the tug within his stomach, the imminent release of his noble Ferelden seed into her pretty little Orlesian womb. He let out a hearty grunt and drove one last time into Isolde before growing still.

_The things I do for my brother_.


	8. Orlaid

**_PROMPT_**:_In one of the lovely totally-anon art pieces, there is some dark mentions of somebody requesting Orlesian cosplay with Loghain. Please make this happen for anon *puppydog eyes*_

_**AN**: This one made me feel dirty and like there is a special spot in hell reserved just for me.  
_

Cauthrien was young and young women often tried very hard to please their men Loghain had come to learn. She had suggested a bit of roleplaying to spice up things. Honestly, Loghain felt nothing needed spicing up, but as it made her smile which made his manly bits smile, he complied and would soldier through like the soldier that he was.

It was almost too good to be true when she came in his bedchamber dressed as the Empress of Orlais. Her accent was rich and fake and insanely Orlesian. "Hero of the River Dane? You are no match for my twin armies." Hands drifted and found the cleft of her breasts, squeezing firm at their rolling mass.

As if on cue, Loghain's General stood at attention quite ready to give Orlais all it deserved. Just as at the great battle of the River Dane, he planned a rear assault. Around the Empress, he circled.

Cauthrien had other things in mind, however. She turned and faced the Great General of Ferelden and engaged in her own frontal attack. Fingers grabbed hard and fast at the hard and fat bulge within Loghain's pants. "You shouldn't have left your.." Squeeze "…officers so unguarded." Her lips curled sugary sweet like some kind of confectionary tart baked in an Orlesian oven.

Loghain was not one to stand down so easily. Orlais made have had him quite literally by his _**HUGE**_ soldier-maker, but he would not surrender. His hand-frantry stormed the curves of her hips and twirled her around, her back against his chest. The push of a hand and the nudge of his foot between her legs and she was forcefully bent forward and shoved into the desk chest first.

"Ferelden farmer boy," barked Cauthrien as she wiggled beneath Loghain. But any effort to move was in vain, he had her effectively pinned as he leaned his weight into her. "I will never surrender."

Loghain shifted just enough to allow the fabric within his grasp to be raised up. Her protective barriers were easily nudged away and pooled about her waist.

With his other hand, he positioned his artillery and aimed it for the apex of her armed forces, ready to strike in an instant. "Surrender," he ordered into her ear, breath hot against her skin.

"I would rather fuck a dog," Cauthrien spat.

"Seeing as you Orlesians see us Fereldans as dogs, I think that is something I can arrange quite easily." And his ballista fired, its aim exact. He sunk deep, the invaded becoming the invader. Wave after wave, he drove into the Orlesian field, pounding with all the fury of a man wishing to lay claim to what should be his.

When he thought she would never surrender, when his forces would be depleted and spent, Cauthrien let out a cry and a gasp, "I surrender. Oh by the Maker, I surrender." Her body began to quiver and shake and vibrate before it went slack.

Loghain withdrew his invading army and took a few steps back. "Now, come and bow before the victor and beg for mercy."

Compliant, defeated, Cauthrien plied herself off the desk and took a position upon her knees just in front of Loghain. Her hands wrapped about his weapon of mass fuckstruction as her lips brushed pleadingly against its girth before taking it into her mouth in its entirety.

His monument to victory was near the exploding point. The firmness of her lips, the commanding stroke of her tongue, it brought Loghain to the edge. And just as he felt he could hold it no longer, he withdrew from her mouth and soaked her in the waters of his River Dane.

Only after he felt the last of his release expelled did he reach forward with a gentle touch and brush a clump of loose hair behind one of Cauthrien's ears. "Next time, I'll let you play Maric and I'll show what we had to do one time in the Wilds to keep warm."


	9. Slippery When Wet

**Prompt**: _I want first-time F!Cousland/Alistair sexings. The trick? I want it to be totally cheesy, so-bad-it's-horrible smut. Lots of moaning, groaning screaming, etc. Bonus points for cliche phrases like 'perfect mounds' 'impressive girth' etc. The more it resembles horrible romantic drivvel/poetry the better (see: Stephenie Meyer)._

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_

Alistair was so going to get lucky tonight, finally. The cards had been laid on the table and they were covered with pictures of naked ladies. Just the idea of it got him hard. His trousers tightened around his throbbing manhood.

He sat on the floor of the tent and stared at Elissa as she shirked off her clothes quickly. He liked to watch. A huge grin slopped across his lips as his tongue swept across them. He could taste her from here. He just knew she'd taste like cinnamon and sex.

He watched as Elissa removed her small clothes and bountiful breasts spilled across her chest, copper colored nipples standing at attention just for him. His already growing rigidity saluted inside his pants at the sight of those perfect mounds of paled flesh.

His hand started to work against the laces of his pants, freeing his straining masculinity from within the folds of fabric. "Suck it," he commanded. He would have those luscious, ruby lips around his man-shaft.

"Your desire is my command," Elissa said as she crawled, a predator ready to eat her prey, to Alistair. Fingers took his turgid staff in their grasp and ushered it to her mouth. Her tongue tickled the tip, concentric circles swirled along the swollen flesh, before her mouth swallowed him whole, taking the entirety of him into the back of her throat. She might be a virgin, but the girl had the moves of a virgin sex goddess.

Alistair let out a loud moan, "Oh yes, that feels so good." Because oh did it feel wonderful. Elissa worked up and down along the length of him, coating his thickness in spit and desire. But just as Alistair felt the familiar tug of release deep in his lovesack, he pulled away. "No, not yet." He was saving that special love injection for other holes more suitable for his seedy donation.

She released her hold on his rock hard cock with a pop. His rigid member bounced and landed hard against his thigh, throbbing in tune with the beat of his heart. Every bit of templar discipline he had learned was drawn upon, holding back his little boys.

"Lay down," he ordered. Alistair was in charge tonight. Elissa was taking all the orders. Hungry fingers pinched and tugged at her breasts, fondling their beautifully formed, burgeoning, naked, creamy swell. Drool started to gather in his mouth. Never had something or someone looked so completely tasty to him before.

He leaned into her and let his tongue do the walking, up and down the rolling softness. Teeth tugged and toyed with swollen nipples, bringing an arch to Elissa's back and a moan to her lips. But he was just getting started.

Strong hands pushed her thighs apart, revealing the wonders of her curly nest between her legs. A kitten ready to lap up a bowl of milk, he brushed his tongue against swollen and moist flesh. Instinct took control, guiding him along the silky path of her velvet folds.

Her body bucked and writhed, wave after wave of pleasure pummeling her to the core. He did not relent until she began to shudder and quiver, her legs widening to welcome his oral assault. "Ohh Alistair," she screamed.

The sound of his name spoken with her voice caused his organ to throb further. He had to have her and now.

Her legs remained spread an open invitation for him to invade her field with his foreign army. She was so wanting it – it being the throbbing gristle of his cock. He lowered himself atop her and slid himself into her wet and awaiting slit, impaling her on his straining member. In and out he thrust, a loud slapping sound filling the tent along with moans and whimpers. It felt so good. It felt so right. He should have done this sooner.

The familiar feeling returned, an explosion of pleasure radiating from deep within. A frenzy of simultaneous explosions rocked his body, pushing him deeper inside her as his seed painted the walls of her cervix.

After emptying his load, he fell to the side, unsheathing his royal bastard sword from her hilt. Sweat and sex covered them both. He smiled, "We need to do that again and again."


	10. Exit

**Prompt**: _Years into the future, the F!Warden (would prefer Surana or Brosca, but would be perfectly happy with a non-specific origin) has to say goodbye to Zevran when she leaves for the Deep Roads. _

_

* * *

_

They had known it was coming. The cloud of certainty hovered in the distance for some time, always within eyesight but just far enough away to avoid thinking about it. But as time passed, the shade of darkness approached, growing nearer and nearer until there was no more disregarding its appearance, no more ignoring the inevitable.

Her time had come.

The dreams started suddenly. Muriel had always assumed there would be trickles of thoughts invading mind, a slow tickle of hints that her time was nearing. There was to be no such foreshadowing. Without warning, the steady buzz of the call echoed in her ears, nipping, poking, prodding her in one direction – the Deep Roads.

She was not ready.

Twenty-five years she had with her Antivan. Twenty-five more she wished she could have. He was the heat of the sun against her skin and sweet honey against her tongue.

She felt sick.

Her funeral was to be in the morning. On a dirt road, it all began. In the dirt and dust, it would all end. Firsts had become the familiar and now would become lasts. Their last meal together, their last drink, their last night, a series of items crossed out, never to be completed again.

She did not want to leave him.

There were so many things to be said. The words she had never spoken. The words he had never said. An understanding blanketed their entanglement. They let actions speak where they could not. Armor and clothing were tossed aside. Only skin against skin, mouth against mouth were all that mattered.

She needed to feel alive in these last moments. Alive with him. Fevered and urgent, she rocked atop him. They were not gentle. She wanted the bruises. She wanted his marks upon her. He could stay with her when he could not.

She could not resist the call.

The clocks had stopped turning, an end of time arrived. Promises made in the midnight hour were broken. She left Zevran while he slept. Better to leave things like this. Better to not have him staring at her with the knowledge of her fate reflected in his eyes.

She was a Paragon.

Cheers erupted as the crowds bid a final farewell. Her expression was awash with emptiness. A mask sported. A lie. She acted as she thought they would wish her to. Proud and strong, she raised a hand in a final wave, the Deep Roads steps away. And in the crowd, she saw it – a flash of golden hair, a sweep of leather covered arms. He pushed through the crowd.

He was too late. She was already dead.

She turned from the crowd and went through the entrance to the Deep Roads. As the sound of the heavy doors closing echoed across the walls, she brushed her fingers against her lips. The taste of him lingering from a stolen kiss upon his forehead before she left and she smiled.


	11. A Nose Knows

**Prompt**: _Requesting some sexy Theirin nose on Howe nose action! _

_**AN**: There are some prompts I guess I can't resist. This is short and well...cracky.  
_

They sensed each other from across the room. He had the scent of a fine cheese and metal and he had the scent of leather and oil. Their aromas were intoxicating to the other. From across the room, they advanced.

A haughty flare of a nostril quivered in anticipation. Nathaniel's nose was primed and ready. It was time to bow down and show fealty to his King.

They collided, beak against beak. Every olfactory nerve fired off in tiny jolts of sniffing pleasure as Alistair's nose tickled Nathaniel's nasal length. Up and down the, the curve of Alistair's nares rubbed against Nathaniel.

The heat grew in the pit of sinus. He was close, so close. It was almost unbearable. He let out a small sniff of a sigh before the world crashed into a series of stars and his release. He sneezed like he had never sneezed before, covering Nathaniel in his nasal treasure.


	12. You've Got Buns Hun

**Prompt: **_Remember when Oghren lost the fight to that roast at Branka's father's funeral? That wasn't a simple fight- oh, no. And all's fair in love, war, and tasty, tasty sauces. I want to see Oghren and that roast have a sexy moment, anon. Make it happen the way only you can!_

_The quote from Felsi as inspiration:  
_

_"He got drunk. Drunker than usual, even. Took off his pants and challenged a roast nug to a wrestling match at my father's funeral. He lost, by the way. The roast got him in an arm lock. He sat there crying for half an hour before someone pulled it off him."_

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The liquor flowed freely just as it was meant to. One glug, two glugs, Oghren stopped counting at what sixty-nine. Huh. Sixty-nine. That was a funny number. It was the type of number that could fill a gut with laugher and a mind with naughty little thoughts. Oghren liked that number.

Everything moved in waves and wobbles. His hand? Oh that shook. His legs? Oh they wobbled. He was two sheets to the wind and then four more to the sea. Oghren was right pissed. But not pissed in the way in which you want to start hitting things, well unless those things are plump little asses that were begging for pats of butter. He was pissed in the way of the drunk. Beer goggles ported like the pro of pros.

The party was roaring and Oghren was the King of the Hill. He stumble strutted about the room, hands upon his hips, a fine sheen of love juice (aka, ale) slicing his beardstache in anticipation of later entertainment. He was ready and willing.

Then he spotted her across the room. Her rump was smooth and round. So plush. So plump. Juices oozed in a teasing slickness hinting at the secret treasures of scrumptiousness within. He had to have her. He needed her. He would consume her before the night was done.

The roast would be his.

Hands smoothed down the bushy mass of his hair and the braids of his facial hair. He needed to look purty to bag this luscious piece of rump meat. She was a fickle broad, he was sure. Just no duster would do. No, she needed someone that could handle all she had to offer. Oghren was that man.

His hand moved back, fingers colliding with the coolness of her flesh in a moist slap. The tenderness of her skin nearly brought him right then and there. But he held back. This girl had spunk. She was not going to be so easy as to turn over and spread wide at such a simple gesture. She wanted to play hard to get. Glazing or not, he had to earn the right to her.

Oh she smiled at him, a gapped no tooth smile filled with onions and potatoes. It was a lustful grin. You can have me but you can't. Come and get me if you dare. Oh but Oghren dared. Damned temptress, showing him her cavity like that. A hint of pleasure revealed then hidden away under the shift of her weight beneath his hands.

He stroked her oil warmed flesh, meaty fingers tender in their touch and press. He knew what the ladies liked. They liked the slow stroke, teasing and prodding just enough to make them mumble your name and call you a stone god because of all the man stuff you brought to the table. He laid it on thick, whispering into her sweet little neck hole the things he'd do to her when they were alone.

She did not like it. No. He insulted her and she smacked him in the face with her tailbone. She was a lady and he as an oaf. She would show him. He fell to the ground under her sway. Meat against his lips, breath stolen as his hands became frozen an unable to move. She smothered him in her flesh ripeness. A surprise maneuver at that. His arms pinned beneath her weight.

His body bucked against the ground, trying desperately to dismount the foul creature upon his face. He could not give in so easily. She could not win. He was the man. She was the woman. He smothered her with his burly little soldier and not the other way around. But he found himself unable to break away from her clutch. Her hold upon him unrelenting, strong and stubborn. It only made him want her more.

But in an instant, she was torn away. A sea of faces, intruders, trespassers, a bunch of sodding voyeurs peered down at him as she moved away from him. They were jealous. They were haters. She was his. He was hers. Why could they not let them be. It was true love. Did they not see?

The tears came in an instant, streaking the patina of the nuggish excretions upon his face. It was true love in a moment of fleshy entanglement. He had thought Branka the love of his life. Hell, even Felsi might have qualified at some point. But he knew in that moment, no one would ever hold a candle to the sweetness of that roast. They were a love meant to be and denied through the cruelty of the fates. They were a love that would have to find another way and another catering.


	13. Baaaad Romance

_**AN:** Prompt was - "So I read somewhere that the new elves look like sheep._

_Meme, I can't get this out of my head. Because who do we know that likes elves? King Maric, that's who. _

_The scene: a ship. Lost at sea. It's been ages, and Maric is lonely, with an itch in his pants that begs for a little wooly action. Maybe it's the sun. Maybe it's the heat. Maybe he can't tell the difference anymore. _

_Bonus points if Maric actually bangs the wool off a sheep._

_Double extra bonus points if Maric thinks he's banging a sheep but it turns out to be a hairy elf."_

_I was already going to hell... I really am now. I wasn't going to anon fail this, but well, I apparently have no shame.  
_

* * *

Maric used to like the sun, the kiss of sun lit tendrils as they licked against his skin in warm embrace. There was comfort to be found within the wooby within the sky.

But not any longer.

Relentless in its affections for the king, the sun beat down upon him, day after day. Taunting, teasing, the beat down from above was driving him slowly insane.

An itch he could not scratch clawed at his skin. Partly it was due to the sunburn that had cracked his flesh from over exposure. But there was more to it than that, so much more. The burning traveled far deeper than the superficial.

It traveled into his pants. By the Maker, Maric was horny.

Being king of Ferelden had been good. One snap of the fingers and he was banging the ever loving shit out of whatever elf he wished, and he wished it a lot. What he wouldn't have given for the snap of his fingers to produce such magical results. But he was not so lucky. Trapped upon the small rowboat, there was only he and a sheep he managed to save within the water after the shipwreck.

He'd called her Loghain. At first the name had been a joke. The sheep certainly spoke as much as his taciturn friend. But as the itch began to make its demands upon his royal best, he found himself pretending, placing a face upon the furry muff. Peaceful brown eyes found replacement in glacial blue. Curled locks of woolen hair became lustrous strands of ebon silk.

Maric was undone.

He had no memory of removing his pants.

He had no memory of moving behind the sheep, his erection throbbing with want and need and baaaaad intentions.

He only recalled the sweet sweet feeling as he thrust into his precious Loghain and pummeled his ass.

The sea silence was broken by the coupling of the ragged cries emerging deep from within Maric's throat and the high-pitched baaa'ing of the sheep. And when he finally came, he came as if he'd been rocked like a hurricane.  
Everything spilled out into Loghain, filling the sheep so completely that the wool began to fall off its skin, littering the boat floor with the evidence of Maric's passion.


End file.
